


Breakfast of Champions

by 7iris



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5 Things, Multi, Post-Canon, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7iris/pseuds/7iris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five breakfasts Sam, Steve, and Natasha have together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast of Champions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



**1\. Coffee and donuts**

Natasha brought him coffee and vending machine donuts while he waited for Steve to wake up.

The coffee was scorched and the donuts were too sweet, but Sam was suddenly aware of how much he needed sugar and caffeine.

"Thanks," he said. 

Natasha nodded. She picked up Steve's chart and studied it, her mouth flat and tight. She looked as exhausted as Sam felt.

"Want one?" he asked, holding the package of donuts out.

She glanced over at him. A ghost of a smile crossed her face, and she took one. "Thanks," she said.

She sat down on the other side of Steve's bed, where she could see both Steve and the door. She got a little powdered sugar on her jeans, because she wasn't actually superhuman after all. Or maybe she was just tired.

They sat there without talking, watching Steve sleep.

Natasha's phone buzzed. She looked at the screen and scowled, turned it face down on her lap. After a minute, it buzzed again, more insistent. She swiped the notification off without looking, but it buzzed again immediately. She bit her lip, scrubbed a hand over her eyes.

"You're going to stay, right?" she asked. "Until he wakes up."

"Yeah," Sam said. "For sure."

She looked up and met his eyes.

Sam had always known he fell in love easy, with people, with causes. He wasn't surprised that he fell so hard and fast for Steve, both things wrapped up together.

But he was a little surprised at the tug in his chest under Natasha's steady, solemn gaze.

"Thank you," she said.

He nodded, words sticking in his throat.

  


**2\. Bacon and eggs and pancakes and...**

They went to the desert, Steve following some scrap of intell about the Winter Soldier, Sam following Steve.

They found the lab buried deep beneath the salt flats. The thin streamer of oily black smoke drifting up from the hidden doors made it easier.

The lab was completely destroyed. The smell of scorched metal and burnt plastic was noxious and overpowering, and under it, Sam could smell charred meat. He swallowed down his gag reflex as they picked their way in.

But the destruction was too recent, too much heat lingering in the ashes and rubble, for them to go more than a few yards in.

Sam wondered if the lab had been destroyed by HYDRA or by Barnes. He took a quick, sidelong glance at Steve's face, and didn't ask which one he thought it was. 

"We'll come back tomorrow," Steve said. 

"Sure," Sam said. He wondered if he could find them some firefighter's gear just in case.

That night, Sam dreamed about falling out of the sky, one wing gone, the other useless. Except, no, it wasn't him, it was Riley, plummeting towards sand and rock instead of the Potomac, and he wasn't going to pull his ripcord in time--

"Sam!" someone said, low and fierce.

Sam jolted up. There was a hand on his shoulder. He lashed out automatically. His fist hit something that felt like a side of beef, and he woke up all the way.

"Ow," Sam croaked, shaking his hand out.

"Sorry," Steve said. "I-- it looked like you were having a bad dream. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said. He rubbed at his eyes. "Yeah."

Steve hesitated, his face barely readable in the dim streetlight filtering into the motel room. Sam forced a smile, made himself lie back down.

"I'm fine, go back to bed," Sam said.

"Okay," Steve said finally.

Sam listened to Steve's breathing and the faint hum of traffic on the interstate. Steve's breathing slowed into sleep, but Sam couldn't follow.

Restless, nervous energy jittered under his skin. The red numbers of the clock seemed frozen.

When he couldn't handle lying there anymore, he slipped out of bed. He put his running shoes on, like he had a hundred times before in DC. He stopped with his hand on the door, went back to write a quick note for Steve before he tiptoed out of the room. 

He barely lasted half a mile. The air was cold and dry in the predawn, and the dusty taste of it in the back of his throat made him think of other deserts, deserts he didn't want to remember. He abandoned the shoulder of the road in favor of an all-night diner at a truck stop.

The waitress gave his running clothes a dubious look, but she brought him a cup of coffee without a word.

Sam drank it slowly, as the sky slowly lightened and the diner filled up. 

He was in the middle of his third cup when Steve came. Steve scanned the room, and relief slid across his face when he saw Sam.

He came over and dropped into the booth across from Sam.

"I didn't skip out on you, if that's what you're worried about," Sam said.

Steve blinked. "No, I know, I saw your note. You were gone awhile, and I just wanted to make sure nothing had happened to you."

"Oh," Sam said. 

The waitress came over with a pot of coffee. Steve flipped his cup right side up and smiled at her. Then he started ordering.

Sam had to bite back a smile as Steve kept talking, and the waitress's dubious expression came back.

She shook her head, and went to put the order in. Steve gave Sam an embarrassed eye roll, and they grinned at each.

Steve's grin faded. "I'm, I get it, you know?"

Sam looked away, straightened his coffee cup. "I know."

Steve took a deep breath like he was going to say something, but then his food arrived, a huge pile of scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, sausage, whole wheat toast. A stack of pancakes came next.

Steve ate like someone was going to take the plate away any moment. Sam dug a fork into Steve's pancakes, and Steve made a garbled noise of protest.

Steve took a huge gulp of orange juice. "Get your own," he said.

Sam shrugged and took another bite. Steve pulled the plate closer. 

When their waitress came back to refill their coffee, Steve ordered an omelet, home fries, and more toast.

"And can you do chocolate chip pancakes?" he asked.

"Sure, honey," she said. 

"With whip cream," Steve added.

When the pancakes came, Steve pushed them over to Sam. "So you'll stop stealing mine," Steve said.

Sam snorted, but he ate them anyway.

"They're not as good as yours," Steve said.

"Mine were from a mix," Sam said.

Steve shrugged and kept eating.

Sam took another bite of the pancakes, and felt the last of that sour tension drain away.

  


**3\. Leftover empanadas**

"Jesus fucking Christ," Sam said. He pressed his hand over his heart, which felt like it was trying to pound its way out of his chest.

"Sorry," Natasha said, from where she was sitting at Sam's kitchen table, in the middle of the night, scaring the bejeesus out of him when he went to get a glass of water.

"How did you even get in here?" Sam asked.

She gave him a _Seriously?_ look.

"Sam! Is everything--" Steve stopped in the doorway. "Tasha? What are you doing here?"

"I brought empanadas," she said. Sam opened his mouth to explain reasonable visiting hours, and she added, "I have some information about the Winter Soldier."

She pushed a manila envelope across the table towards Steve. The sleeve of her shirt slipped back, and Sam caught a glimpse of a dirty, bloody bandage. He suddenly noticed how worn-down she looked.

"Shit," he said. He got his first aid kit out of the kitchen cupboard. "C'mon, let me see."

Natasha held her arm out.

Sam pushed her sleeve back and cut off the bandage.

"Tasha," Steve said softly.

"It's fine, just a scratch."

Sam snorted. It was messy, but shallow. He wouldn't call it a scratch, but, "It's not going to kill her."

Steve made a noise, half-exasperation, half-hurt. Natasha nudged the grease-stained white paper bag on the table with her good hand.

Steve sat down, pulled the bag and the file towards him while Sam cleaned her wound.

Steve looked up after a minute and said, "You think he's in South America."

She nodded. "If we ask Stark nicely, he'd send a private plane this morning. We could be there by dinner time."

"I thought you didn't want to be a part of this. I thought you were going to work on finding yourself," Steve said.

Natasha's face crumpled and she looked away. "I did, I was. I, I knew him."

"What?" Steve said. He leaned back, his face hardening. 

"I didn't-- There's always been a Winter Soldier. One of them trained me, when I was young. I didn't remember his face. I still can't, exactly. I can't be sure I really remember it." Her voice shook just a little, and under Sam's hands, her arm trembled, too. "But he's in my records, and I'm in his." 

Sam glanced at their faces, Natasha pale and gaunt, Steve wary and uncertain. He dropped his eyes back to her wound, concentrated on wrapping it gently and securely.

"I have to go with you," she said. "I have to be a part of this now."

Steve exhaled. "Sam?" he said.

Sam almost jumped, surprised to be asked. "Uh, yeah, I mean..." He trailed off. He met Natasha's eyes and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I think we need her help."

"Okay," Steve said. "Okay, but you're calling Stark for the lift."

She nodded, trying to smile.

"And we're all going to back to bed first," Sam said.

(In the morning, he found Steve had eaten all but two of the empanadas. Sam snorted. He and Natasha ate them while Steve made a huge bowl of oatmeal and sighed wistfully at them.)

  


**4\. Fruit and toast and percocet**

Sam blinked slowly awake. Everything hurt, but in that dull, bearable way that meant nothing was seriously wrong.

"Hey," Nat said softly. "How do you feel?"

"Blergh," Sam said.

"Mm-hmm. You want some painkillers?"

Sam cleared his throat. "What kind?"

Nat shook a few into her palm. She had a spectacular bruise across her cheekbone. Sam hoped it wasn't fractured. "Percocet or Vicodin."

"Percocet," Sam said. He dragged himself into a sitting position.

Nat held out two pills. There was a strip of gauze wrapped around her hand over her knuckles. He took one pill, and the bottle of water.

There was a clatter from another room, and Sam's eyes snapped to the open door, his heartbeat kicking up.

"I don't want to alarm you," Nat said, "but Steve is making breakfast."

"Oh, fuck you," Steve said, carrying a tray into the room.

"Did you try to boil anything?" Sam asked.

" _No,_ " Steve said.

It was just toast, thick slices of soft, sweet egg bread, and fruit he doesn't recognize, and small cups of strong black coffee with a can of sweetened condensed milk on the side.

Steve looked disgustingly healthy, and also kind of anxious.

"I didn't know if you'd be nauseous, so I didn't want to make eggs or beans, but if you're hungry--"

"No, this is good, thanks," Sam said. 

He took a piece of toast, more to make Steve stop looking at him like that than because he was hungry. 

"Do you want tea instead? I think we've got tea," Steve said.

Sam caught Nat's eye, and they both looked away so they didn't grin.

"No, I'm good," Sam said.

Nat reached over a picked up a piece of fruit with her fingers and popped it in her mouth, then took one of the cups of coffee.

Sam nibbled at the toast.

"I think we should go home," Steve said.

"What? No, if this is about me getting a little beat up--" Sam started.

Steve scowled. "Look, I'm not saying I liked that part, or that it didn't bother me, but the trail's gone cold here. We need to regroup. And we can do that in New York or DC just as well as we can here."

Sam exhaled slowly and fought back the urge to throw his toast at Steve's head. "How about we take a couple of days, rest up, and then decide?"

Steve opened his mouth to argue and Nat said, "Is there any more coffee?"

"You can have mine," Sam said.

Steve refocused immediately. "No, I'll go make more."

"Thanks," Nat said.

When Steve was gone, Sam asked, "Is the trail really that cold?"

Nat made a face. "We got a little intell out of the last place we raided, but the fact is, it's probably worthless. It wouldn't hurt us to go home."

Sam sighed, slumping back against the headboard. "I hate feeling useless. Worse than useless, like I'm just some weak-ass human dragging the superheroes down."

Nat snorted. "You think I don't feel that? Take away my guns and my fancy spy toys and what am I?"

Sam eyed her. "I'm pretty sure you're someone who could kill a man with her bare thighs."

Nat grinned, a startled, genuine smile. "You could be that person, too, if you spend some time in the gym with me. I'll totally teach you that."

Sam found a grin tugging at his own mouth. "All right, all right, I'll think about it."

"When we're back in New York," Nat said, pointing at him.

Steve came back in with the little stovetop espresso maker. "Are we going back?" he asked.

Nat gave Sam a look.

"Yeah," Sam said. "But just until we get a new lead."

  


**5\. Waffles and the taste of freedom**

Nat skipped town after they got back to New York.

"Just doing a favor for a friend," she said. "I'll be back soon."

She texted him after his morning run a few days later. _ETA 1 hour. Breakfast? :D?_

_I'll think about it,_ Sam said. But after he showered, he hit up the Tower's kitchen. It had what Sam was pretty sure was a Stark-made waffle iron. While slightly terrifying, it did look like it would make enough for Steve, at least.

"JARVIS, could you tell Captain America to get his butt down here and give me a hand if he wants waffles?" Sam said.

"Of course, sir," JARVIS said.

Sam made Steve monitor the waffles while he microwaved a couple of pounds of artisanal bacon.

"Wow," Nat said when she walked into the kitchen. "This smells amazing."

Sam shrugged. "I think I owed you one."

"Who's counting? Happy birthday," she said, and handed him a black, zipped nylon bag.

Sam reached for the zipper. "It's not my--"

He stopped talking when he saw the harness. He pulled it out of the bag with careful hands. It was his wings. He jerked his eyes up to Nat.

She was smiling, just a little.

"Where did -- I thought all the prototypes were destroyed," Sam said.

"All of SHIELD's were. But T'Challa, the original designer, kept tinkering even after SHIELD didn't renew the project. I tracked him down and he was willing to loan you a set for further testing."

Sam didn't know what to say. He ran his hand over the smooth metal of the neatly folded wings.

"You should try them out," Steve said.

"Yeah," Sam said, and suddenly he couldn't wait.

He stood up and went straight for the elevator. Steve and Nat trailed after him. 

Sam strapped the harness on before the doors even opened. He rolled his shoulders, settling into the familiar pressure. The wings felt lighter than before.

Steve and Nat were watching him with identical, almost fond expressions. Sam couldn't seem to stop smiling, although he at least managed not to bounce on his toes.

The elevator opened onto the roof of Stark Tower. 

Sam stepped out. He spread the wings open experimentally. Longer, thinner, lighter. Even just the couple of wingbeats he took felt more responsive.

"T'Challa said he made some improvements to the propulsion system, too," Nat said. "It's charged and ready to go."

"Awesome," Sam said. "Be right back."

"Take your time," Steve said.

Sam flashed him a huge, helpless grin, then folded the wings back and took a running leap off the roof.

He dropped like a stone. Then he snapped the wings out, kicked on the propulsion and _flew_.

It was amazing. He hadn't realized how much he missed this.

He soared up over the Tower. He did a couple of huge loop-the-loops, just for the joy of it, then a long, blazing fast spiral down the length of the Tower, so close his wingtips almost touched the glass.

He leveled out a few stories above street level and shot straight down Eighth Avenue. He shifted his wingspan, kicked the propulsion up a notch and rocketed upwards, until the air was thin and cold and his breath rasped his in lungs.

He turned back and swooped low over the roof of the Tower. Nat and Steve waved at him. 

"Cap!" Sam shouted. "Jump!"

Steve laughed and took a running jump off the edge of the roof. Sam dove after him, wings tucked back.

Steve held his hands up and Sam grabbed his wrists, Steve's hands locking around his own forearms. Then he snapped the wings open and hit the jets. Steve was a heavy, solid drag on his arms, but the wings didn't even strain under the extra weight. Sam swept them both up in a long, smooth arc.

"Wooooo!" Steve shouted, and Sam laughed.

He wheeled easily at the top of his arc and glided back down towards the roof. 

"On three!" he yelled.

"Roger that!" Steve called back.

"One, two, three," Sam counted, and they both let go.

Steve landed lightly on the balls of his feet and Sam kept going. He looped back around to shout, "Nat, you wanna ride?"

Nat grinned. She backed up a a couple of steps, and Steve laced his fingers together. 

Sam knew what they were going to do like this was a move they pulled all the time. Nat ran towards Steve. On her last stride, she jumped, her foot landing in Steve's hands and he boosted her straight up into the air. Her reaching hands caught Sam's and he flew them up and away from the roof.

Nat hooked her ankle over Sam's calf, let go of one of his hands to grab his harness. She ducked under the upstroke of his wing and flattened herself against his back, her arms wrapped around his chest, her face pressed against his neck. He could feel her smiling against his skin.

She weighed almost nothing compared to Steve, and it was easy to run through some defensive maneuvers, swooping from side to side like he was dodging enemy fire. The dizzingly fast backwards loop was just for fun.

Finally Sam turned back. He slowed his descent as he approached the roof and backwinged hard to land on his feet, Nat still clinging to his back. She was laughing.

She loosened her grip, sliding down his back to her feet, and he pulled the wings in tight. He turned to face her. Her face was lit up, pink from the wind, and he felt this overwhelming wave of affection for her, all tangled up with the joy of flying again.

He cupped her cheek in one hand and leaned in to kiss her, soft and gentle.

She made a tiny surprised noise against his mouth, but she clutched his shoulders and kissed back. Just like that it wasn't gentle anymore, it was slick and hot and devouring.

"Whoa!" Steve said. "I'll just, um--"

Sam lifted his head. Steve was backing up towards the elevator. Sam snapped one wing out and blocked his way. 

"Where do you think you're going, soldier?" Nat asked.

"Um," Steve said. He was slowly turning pink.

Sam reached out and grabbed Steve's wrist. He tugged, and Steve let himself be pulled in, let Sam press their mouths together.

Steve sighed against his mouth, melted into the kiss.

Sam was breathing faster when they broke apart. Steve gave Nat a cautious look.

Nat smiled, fond and indulgent, and went up on her tiptoes to grab Steve's head and pull him down into a kiss. Sam left his hand wrapped around Steve's wrist, and he could swear he felt Steve's pulse jump against his fingertips.

"Whoa," Steve said again, breathless this time. "But, uh, guys -- maybe not on the roof?"

"My rooms are five floors down," Nat said. "And I have a balcony."

"Works for me," Sam said.

He grabbed their hands, and they all took the leap together. 

(Breakfast got cold, but that's what microwaves were for.)


End file.
